The Long Haul
by mandaree1
Summary: It's guys like Reverend Putty who get daughters like Stephanie. And, boy, isn't the world a better place for it?


**Disclaimer: I don't own Moral Orel**

 **Title: The Long Haul**

 **Summary: It's guys like Reverend Putty who get daughters like Stephanie. And, boy, isn't the world a better place for it?**

 **...**

It's guys like Reverend Putty who get daughters like Stephanie. Or, to be more accurate; it's women like Gladys Foamwire, who break into Reverends' houses in hopes of inseminating herself with some used latex, that get daughters like Stephanie. Daughters who, in spite of the best hopes of aforementioned women, don't really take after said Reverend in the looks department. Daughters who aren't as religious as you'd expect the child of a preacher and the lady so into God she did- well, that whole spiel- to be. Daughters who are, despite other's best efforts, gay.

Stephanie doesn't really mind that anymore. She did, once. She did when her mom kicked her out. She did when she had nothing and no one. But y'know what? Things are pretty sweet now. She's got a dad, more or less. She's got a friend- granted, he's only half her height and not even half her age, but she's not all that picky. She's got a shop all to herself, and the nicest piercing gun this side of Sinville. It's as nice as it gets in Moralton.

Or, at least, it was.

* * *

Stephanie is usually the last to know news in Moralton. She doesn't get out much, unless you count to see her pals out back in the Glory Hallelujah Hole, most of whom are repeat customers. No one ever really comes bustling into Buried Pleasures to tell her much of anything- unless you count that she's going to Hell for her wares, of course.

But she does go to the store, and if there's one thing of which Stephanie is grateful for, it's the busybodies who hound the produce section. She knows the details before Orel even has the displeasure of waking up in the hospital, and she's ready for him by the time he's up and able to come hobbling into her store.

Stephanie imagines the mind to be a bit like a radio. She sees her hatred dial- specifically, her hatred of Clay Puppington in particular- and cranks it up all the way.

* * *

Orel sweeps. It's one of the few jobs Stephanie feels okay with giving him. Sometimes he can re-stock, but when he re-stocks he always asks questions, and Stephanie always answers, and he never likes those answers.

The floor is smooth and paper-free as they share a bottled water for a break, Orel on the special stool Stephanie got him. The others aren't nearly as nice to look at. "Hey, Stephanie? Can boys have sleepovers?"

"Sure they can." Stephanie shrugs and hands back the bottle, now half-empty. She's got a habit of slugging the stuff down. "Sleepovers are basically just playdates that go into overtime."

He fiddles with his fingers a second, then looks up at her. "Can... can boys and girls have sleepovers?"

Logically, Stephanie knows she's supposed to say no, if only to avoid angering the neighbors when Orel goes home spouting off left and right about what she's said. But Stephanie isn't gonna lie to the kid. Not like this. "Sure. Why?"

Orel takes in a deep breath. "I... I don't really wanna go home tonight." He pats his knee. "Y'know?"

The notch practically breaks off its hate-filled hinges at the vulnerable look on the boy's face. Seriously. Clay Puppington's messed up. "You wanna sleep at my place?"

"Yes, please."

"That can be arranged."

* * *

Stephanie has one of the cheapest apartments in Moralton. The tap leaks, the freezer doesn't work, and she's pretty sure there's a nest of rats in the closet. There's a couch, a lamp and desk, and a mattress. A single pale blue blanket and pillow, complete with snazzy pillow case.

Orel doesn't complain. Poor kid's too tired to. He gimps over to the bed and collapses onto the blanket. Stephanie tugs it out from under him, hoping to make it a bit more comfy, but he takes it as a sign to roll off and get on his knees.

"Pray with me?" he asks, and Stephanie'll be damned if she doesn't get all mushy when he brings out the puppy dog eyes.

( _hey, God_ , she thinks, while Orel does the usual thank you this and bless that please, and oh-by-the-way my leg is doing better, don't worry, I know how you get. _Do me a solid. Make lightning strike Clay Puppington's study. Now, I don't want you to kill him- I know that's not exactly your forte these days- but maybe you could destroy all those ugly stuffed animals I keep hearing about. Getting rid of those guns won't hurt anybody neither. Hugs and kisses, or whatever. Stephanie._ )

* * *

By day three, it occurs to Stephanie that this is probably a long-term sleepover. He's too young for it to be labeled as moving in- not exactly- but she gets him a toothbrush and toothpaste and some cheap PJs. He asks her to join him for nighttime prayers, and she doesn't mind that at all. It's two minutes of kneeling while Orel tells an omnipresent man in the clouds about his day. She can handle that.

Day four starts off with the phone ringing. Stephanie hardly even remembered she had a phone. She crawled out, checked the clock- who calls at five in the morning?- then picks up.

"Hey, kiddo."

Stephanie rubs at an eyelid. "Dad, I'm half-tempted to stick you up on that cross myself right now."

"Oof. Bad time?"

"Can this wait?"

"I'll be quick. Have you seen Orel? Clay's getting worried."

"Clay can go do many unmentionable and unfortunate things, as far as I'm concerned," she replies steadily. "He's at my place."

"Oh." A pause. "He's- he's with you?"

"Yes, Rev, he's with me." Stephanie leans back to see if she can catch a glimpse of him. No dice. "I think he's off playing with that one kid he knows."

"Doughy?"

"Is that his name? That's an odd name."

Reverend Putty clears his throat. "I, uh, I hate to ask this, but-"

"Yes, Reverend. He's coming to church."

"I was about to ask if you were coming with him, actually" He's a little peeved at being interrupted, or so she gathers by the grumbling. "I'm sure Clay and Bloberta will be there."

"That depends, dad. Will I make it out okay?" A shadow of a smile flits across Stephanie's face. "No hellfire? No holy water? Will the angels come down to send my unholy corpse careening into Hell?"

"Young lady, have you done something I should know about?"

"Nope."

"Then you'll be fine." Reverend Putty laughs a little, relieved. "See you Sunday, kiddo."

* * *

Stephanie wears her flower dress again. Orel's special Sunday suit is- well, it's at the Puppington's house. So he just goes in his usual outfit, plus a clip-on tie he got from Mr. Figurelli's store.

Reverend Putty shakes her hand on the way in, the same way he does everyone else, and Stephanie finds them a seat in the back. The last thing either of them need is for her dad to accidentally make a scene with some familial affection. Bloberta glances back at her, face unreadable, but then Shapey tugs on her dress and she turns back to the front.

All goes well until Francis Censordoll hobbles her way over to sit next to Stephanie. Stephanie forces herself not to tense. There's a laundry list of reasons why she doesn't like the librarian, from her continuous boycotting of her place of business to the fact that she wholeheartedly believes Stephanie will burn in Hell- and that's just because of her piercings. She didn't even want to imagine what the old crone would say if she knew the woman she'd sat next to was a flaming homosexual.

"Heathen," Ms. Censordoll whispers, her voice as warm as an iceberg.

"It's impolite to talk during a sermon, ma'am," Stephanie manages to say, straight-faced. She wonders what the old woman makes of her- proper church attire, tattoos and pointy bits all over. A mockery, most likely.

"Don't tell me what's impolite." She's snippier than ever, spurred on by the gathered congregation. "You must return Orel Puppington to his parents."

"You make it sound like I'm holding him hostage, ma'am." Stephanie gestures to the boy, currently singing his lungs out. "When that's clearly not the case. Why the interest, anyway?"

Ms. Censordoll's face wavers a moment, then hardens. "It makes our mayor very stressed."

"Uh-uh," she says, unconvinced. "Hey, miss. You strike me as a lady with great needs and little ability to satisfy them. You oughta drop by my shop tomorrow."

She splutters. Stephanie echoes Orel's, "Amen."

* * *

Doughy Latchkey shivers as he crosses the doorway into Buried Pleasures, hands clasped to his chest in prayer, as if he could magically make all the fornication rings and sinning cream disappear. The overhead radio blasts some Moraltown version of "All About Us" by t.A.T.u., which Stephanie finds highly ironic.

"H-hi," Doughy says as he edges slowly closer to the counter. "Golly, you look like what Principal Fakey says the devil looks like."

"Thanks." Stephanie's chin meets her hand as she examines him. "I seem to have uncovered a knack for drawing in short people."

He holds his hands up a bit, offering. "Can Orel come out and play?"

"Sure. He's organizing the edible undergarments, aisle three."

Doughy squints. "What does that even _mean_?"

"Sorry, buddy." Stephanie sets her hand at chest height. "Gotta be this tall to ride the information train."

* * *

"I'll have you know that I'm only here to survey the shop. I have no interest in making a purchase."

Stephanie sets her head down on her arms. "Hey, whatever helps you sleep at night. Anything in particular you wanna 'inspect'?"

Ms. Censordoll pulled a face. "That's really none of your business, young lady."

"I mean. It _is_ my shop."

The old woman ignores her, going off to explore the shelves. Stephanie cranks the radio back up and tries to ignore her own uneasiness. She doesn't believe in God, but she's become so used to praying to him from Orel that it's almost second nature.

( _Hey. It's me again. So... you mind handing me a heart attack here? Stroke? I'm sure she'd make a fine addition to your collection of uptight old ladies. Do it as a favor to little gay me before I die and go to Hell. Which, by the way, I'm good with- I like the heat, and there'll be lots of cute girls there, so win-win_. _Stephanie._ )

( _Note to self. This isn't a letter. Stop signing off, dummy_.)

Ms. Censordoll is fifty shades of red as she sets one of the more popular models of oblong back massager on her counter. "I need to test this. At home. To make sure it's not a fake piece of paraphernalia."

Stephanie nods along. "Sure. It's on the house."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine!"

"You want a piercing with that too?"

"D'oh!" she yelped, pressing her hands over her eyes. "That is it! This store is going down."

Stephanie flashes her a thumbs up.

* * *

"So," Reverend Putty says over breakfast. "I'm thinkin' about telling the congregation about you."

Stephanie sets down her mug. "You almost got me mid-sip there, dad."

"That _was_ my intent, I must admit."

"You've got to be joking."

"Not at all. I was quite looking forward to shocking you."

"I meant you're joking about telling the entire goddamn congregation."

"Stephanie," he scolded lightly, taking a bite of hashbrowns. "I'm thinking of making it into a full lesson, y'know? Of how family can come from odd places, and how Jesus brings strange miracles to our door."

"My mother stole your wastebasket in hopes of having a mini-Rod Putty."

Reverend Putty gestures to her with his hand. "And look where we are now! Decent friends, eating together."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh." Stephanie leans back in her chair. She wonders if he's aware that Ms. Censordoll went through her store and called her a heathen. Probably not. Her father's a nice guy, as far as all that goes, but he's hopelessly oblivious. "You do recall I've got a rep for selling sex toys, right?"

"Well, yeah, but there's _more_ to you than that."

"True, but I doubt your congregation is gonna think so."

"You do have the friendship of Orel Puppington," he pointed out. "That's worth something."

"No offense to Orel, dad, but he says everything is a friend. He says his shoes are his socks' best friends."

"Touche."

They finish their breakfast.

* * *

Stephanie isn't sure when or if Doughy moves in, but he sure does visit a lot. He's constantly on the move, used to a lifestyle spent mostly outdoors, and as much as he yearns for close quarters and contact he's also not adjusted to bedtimes or other such things.

She's folding her laundry when they get back from school, sprawling out on her admittedly dirty carpet with workbooks. Stephanie doesn't miss school much- she certainly doesn't miss having to be that close to Kim after her error. She didn't like being near most people at school, actually. It's not much fun being the only gay goth girl in a place like Moralton.

"Why did God make the Earth?" Doughy asked, tapping his pen to his chin.

"Because he was bored," Stephanie replied, folding bedraggled towel.

"Because he could see in the the future, and he loved us!" Orel chirps. For a kid who got shot, he really is a nice boy. There's only a peek of darkness in there, and it's all directed towards Clay. Stephanie has very similar sentiments. She wonders how many prayers it would take to be forgiven for knocking that man a good one.

"Darn. I always get that one wrong."

* * *

"Oh, you heard about that, did you?" Stephanie asked, idly strumming. The back of her truck was more comfortable and spacious than the inside, and when she wanted to be alone she drove out to the outskirts, the plain and empty fields next to the plain and empty Moralton. "Yeah, Censordoll has had a bee in her bonnet ever since eggs got banned. And, really, it's only a matter of time before she started striking out against the sex shops."

Today, Reverend Putty's joining her, though he doesn't look very happy. Or maybe he just hates the situation itself. "I'm not fond of the... _distasteful_ content myself, but that doesn't make your shop any less legitimate."

"That's never stopped Censordoll, dad."

He blew some air out his nose. "I wish I had your unflappable nature. Nothing ever seems to get to you. You're housing the son of the mayor against his wishes, you just found out that you're the daughter of some trashcan pleasantries, and now your place of business is under threat. How... how do you do it, Steph?"

Stephanie snorted, setting the guitar aside. "Look, Reverend. Lemme tell you a little secret. There's literally no one in this town that _hasn't_ hurt me at some point or another, intentional or not. You just learn to go with it."

Reverend Putty frowned. "You deserve better."

She laughed a little, sour for things long past them both. "You could say that about basically anyone in this damn town. We're all killing each other." Spindly fingers wrapped around the neck of her instrument once again. "I'm thinkin' about taking an offer up in Nebraska."

"Nebraska, Statesota?"

"Valley, Nebraska, actually. It's a pretty small place. Guess they could use more sex toys and piercings." Stephanie gently pushed the guitar into the Reverend's lap. "Here. Keep it."

Reverend Putty took it from her without argument. "When're you leaving?"

"Methinks that's entirely dependent on what Ms. Censordoll's next move is."

"So, soon?"

"Probably."

He sighed, shifting to put a hand on her knee. Stephanie refused to let herself tense up, since she felt mostly fine. "Have you thought about that sermon? It could be a goodbye thing. If you're comfortable with it, of course."

"You're quite insistent, old man."

"You're quite resistant, young lady. And I'm not saying that's a bad thing- I'm just curious as to why."

She shrugged, propping her arms on her knees. "I don't see why you're in such a rush to make my mom into a hero."

Reverend Putty squinted at her, confused. "I'm doing no such thing."

"You're making this whole shindig into a miracle, and how Jesus got her to go rummaging through your trash bin," Stephanie said. "I really don't think she deserves that."

A firm, slightly wrinkled hand squeezed her shoulder. " _She's_ not the miracle, Stephanie. _You_ are."

For a moment, Stephanie forgot how to breathe. ( _Hey, God? You got me good on this one. Got me real good. Got my goat. Whatever. Stephanie._ )

Reverend Putty drew away. "You've never really talked about her."

"Not much to say. She liked religion. A little too much, considering." Her fingers clenched into fists, firmly seated on her lap. "She's dead. I might not be all that religious, but I'm not gonna talk bad about the dead."

"So you admit that there's bad blood between you."

"I hope that pun wasn't intended, or I may just have to disown myself."

"Hey, hey, it's just us here. I won't judge. Let it out."

She shifted slightly, reclining so her back was digging into the side of her truck. "Not much to say. We never chatted much. I think- and this is gonna sound gross, but it's true- I think she was disappointed in me for, y'know, not looking exactly like you. And for liking girls."

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh indeed. In a move that- looking back on it now- was highly hypocritical, she booted me for my 'alternative' lifestyle. Saw even less of her after that."

Anger flashes across Rod's face. "How old were you?" he asks, voice deadly quiet.

"Fifteen, give or take?" Stephanie considered it, then ultimately held her hands up. "I didn't exactly keep track."

"I'm sorry."

"Eh, don't be. It wasn't your idea to have a child. At least, not with a woman like Gladys. And I met some super nice people out back, taught me how to poke people for a living. So it wasn't _all_ a waste."

* * *

Ms. Censordoll slaps a sign onto her counter, watching with a silent shake of the head as she flipped it around. It read as follows; "Idle Hands and Improper Behaviors Bring the Devil Buzzing to Your Door."

"So," Stephanie says. "I see the vibrator didn't get you off."

"I didn't use it," she retorted. "I _burned_ it."

"Whatever tumbles your rocks, lady."

* * *

"Stephanie?" Orel prompts, grabbing Doughy's arm when he passive-aggressively tries to shove him. "W-What's gonna happen?"

"I'm gonna skedaddle." Stephanie stares up at the leaky ceiling. She's never been outside of Statesota before, but she doesn't want to admit that scares her. Maybe things'll get better for her in Nebraska. Maybe they won't. No use in bellyaching when she doesn't know.

"Hey!" Doughy cries, effectively shattering the quiet that plagued the complex at night. Sure, there was always the standard shuffles, moans, and tears, but typically they all kept to themselves past sundown. "What about us, huh?"

Stephanie shrugs. "You can come with."

There's a vacant pause. Orel sits up to move his bad leg into a more comfortable position. He's the one who breaks into the silence. "We can?"

"I mean, legally speaking I'm probably screwed, but I've got enough seats in my truck." She reached out to ruffle Doughy's hair. "I'm kind of used to having you dweebs around."

"I..." Orel starts, stops, and starts again. "God would want me to face my problems head on. I know that. I do. But I just... I don't wanna go home."

"I think God will understand if you wait 'till you're a bit bigger to face these kinds of problems, dude."

"And me?" Doughy prompted. "D'ya think God'll be mad at me?"

It's Orel who answers. "Aw, gee, Doughy, I don't see why he would. Your parents aren't very nice."

"Maybe, but they never shot me."

The boy smiled a little, paper-thin and weary. "Trust me, it's not all it's not all it's cracked up to be."

* * *

"You hold your finger up like this-" Stephanie pointed towards the ceiling of her truck with the middle finger. "It says live long and prosper, but in a way your folks'll appreciate."

Orel and Doughy giggle, only half-aware of what they're doing. Stephanie doesn't think this counts as a sin, so she doubts either boy will mind all that much in the end. They drive through town, flipping the bird at people they've known all their lives. Stephanie noticed the Puppington family slipping into their car and hit the gas a bit so Orel can't feel too guilty at the sight of his younger siblings. They slow down for the Latchkey family, laying on the horn so they get the message.

Reverend Putty pulls her in for a side-hug, this time. His eyes linger on her few personal possessions, all tied down to the back of her beat up old truck. They'd already exchanged addresses, so it won't be long until they're sending letters back and forth. Who knows? Maybe she'll even come down to visit.

"Family," he starts once everyone has sat down. Stephanie's hands clench a little in her lap, nervous for no reason. "It's an important part of life. But what _is_ family? I mean, is it always blood relations? Mom and dad make two kids? White pickets fences and fifteen bibles on the wall?" Reverend Putty shook his head. "I don't think so. I think it's more than that. And I think that, sometimes, it's not always where and how you need it. Sometimes we aren't just handed a family. Sometimes, the people we truly feel are our family hurt and betray us. And, yeah. That sucks."

Orel's hand fell to his knee. He nodded along.

"But that doesn't mean family is what we're stuck with!" He threw his hands up. "Can you imagine how _boring_ that'd be? Why, that'd be as boring as- well, as sin. Take note, kids. Sin is boring. Don't sin." Someone cleared their throat. "A-Anyway. Family is everywhere, but it's not always as obvious as it might seem. It can take years to find one, and y'know what? That's okay. There's no deadline for that. God doesn't expect you to stick with people who hurt you. He understands that blood isn't everything- or that it can be just one of many things. Why, I only recently found out Stephanie is my daughter- and, believe me, I wish it was something I could've been aware of. Stupid bins get all the luck."

The entire church seemed to turn to look at her as he droned on. Stephanie's lip trembled. She steeled her nerves and put up the live long and prosper finger, letting them tut and mutter amongst themselves.

Reverend Putty smiled. "God loves us. He wants us to be happy. Amen."

* * *

Ms. Censordoll stops at the door of the church to pat Reverend Putty's shoulder. "I'm so sorry to hear of your unfortunate situation, Rod."

"I don't see what's so unfortunate about it, miss," he responded politely. "I'm quite fond of Stephanie."

Her nose wrinkles. "Shame. I thought you had better taste than that."

Reverend Putty just laughed, thinking of the box of leftover items from Buried Pleasures that was left on Ms. Censordoll's doorstep. He hoped she'd appreciate the joke as much as he did.

"I'm not surprised," Bloberta added as she came out, face as blank as ever. "Men like our dear Reverend always end up with spawn like _her_."

They all watched as the truck peeled off into the distance. If they had any remorse about the boys leaving, they didn't show it. The rest of the congregation filed out, one after the other, and resolved to pretend that they weren't aware of any intimate details of the local pastor of their church.

"And isn't the world better for it?" he asked himself as he shut the door behind them, smiling. "Life would be so _boring_ without her."

 **Author's Note: Hey, look, a long 'fic for a show that aired like ten years ago. Ah, but I suspect it's normal of me to delve into random fandoms for like .02 seconds, then pop right back out. So I guess that's what this is lol. (Also, writing this as an agnostic was interesting- if I've gotten anything wrong terminology-wise, don't be afraid to tell me! I've never been in a Protestant sermon. I just tried to keep it to the characters themselves.)**

 **-Mandaree1**


End file.
